A Southron's Vengeance
by SevenSypher
Summary: The North had been shattered in one night. A king dead, a family torn to tatters, and thousands left to burn or wander with blind loyalty. But where does this leave a southron hedgeknight who's loyalty had fallen in with the Young Wolf? The answer: To stalk the snowy north, and the muddy rivers in search of the men who had wronged his king.
1. Chapter 1

There was food and drink aplenty. Foods I'd never tasted before, even some I'd never dreamed of in my wildest of ventures. Men of all loyalties, from the North to the Riverlands sit in a circle around our fire. Telling tales of Whispering Woods, and of the glory of the Young Wolf. Each of us with a cup in hand, raised to the King's honor. Sloshing wine back and forth, ushering off squires to fetch more.

It was like this for as far as the eye could see. Fire blazing around us, filling the tents with laughter and song. Tonight was the night for it too, we'd marched miles just to arrive here. Now all of the North's armies got to sit down, and finally rest. Drink a bit as well! As I said, tonight was the night for festivals, as King Robb, the Tullys, and the Freys sealed their pact.

I myself was one of those soldiers, not a true northerner have it, but I wore the Bolton flayed man upon my chest with pride, just as any northerner would. During their march south, I'd happen to join up with one of the troops. And have fought in quite a few battles with these Northmen. And let me tell you, they can be as savage as the south would portray them when they consider their honor stained.

"Saven Southron!" A heavy hand slapped my back, causing some of my wine to splash over the side of my goblet. I glanced at the intrusion, he was a big Northerner. I liked him, and was proud to call him friend.

"Ruck!" I gave a grin as we slammed our cups together. Ruck let out a laugh through that brown thicket on his face, a hearty laugh for a hearty man.

"So Southron, what brings you to the Stark tents?" Ah, you're probably wondering why they call me Saven Southron. It's not a surname, no, simply a title. When some Southron sellsword came up the King's Road taughting a sword on his hip, the northerners laughed at me. I took that amusement and shoved it down their throats in the first few battles I participated in. Showing my skill with the blade, while most of them preferred a battle axe of some kind as they're weapon of choice. Ruck was actually the first one to take a liking to me, he'd even given me a few lessons of my own on the art of wielding an axe. I believe I've taken to it pretty well, for that was the second weapon that hung at my hip now.

"I'd come to see some old friends," I chuckled and took another swallow of wine.

"May the Old Gods watch you!" He clapped me on the back, and staggered off into the crowd to laugh and drink with the men.

"You as well!" I called to his back, and made my way towards the Bolton's main camp. The pink and black standard of House Bolton swayed atop the tents.

As I entered the tents, the gloom struck me as strange. Don't get me wrong, working under Lord Roose can dump quite a bit of gloom on a man. But the lack of joy in these tents could be cut with a knife. Men dressed in the flayed man's colors cleaned their weapons, and sharpened them. Some of my brothers-in-arms were even loading their crossbows. You could imagine how strange this struck me.

One of the crossbowmen had got up and started to push his way past me. I reached out and wrapped my fingers around his elbow. He wrestled his arm away, and gave me a look of disgust.

"What do you want, Southron?" The look peeled from his face, dripping into that muddy accented voice.

"What in seven hells is going on? Why aren't you boys at the festival?" I asked, genuinely curious at this oddity.

"Lord Roose's orders." He shook his head as if it was obvious, and rushed off.

This only added to the flame of curiosity growing in my head. I glanced around to the other men, asking for reasons. I got the same reply from the lot of them.

That's when I heard it... The Lannister song. The Rains of Castamere cutting shrill through the tents. As if all the minstrals had decided to start playing it at once, in perfect tune.

I turned on my heel in the direction of the sound. A strange song to be playing at a feast in the North's honor.

In half horror, half amazement I watched as the giant tent in the center of all the camps went ablaze. I could only see the peaks of it above the other tents, but the flames swallowed it in seconds. Wolfing it down as if it was straw. Before I could blink the thing came crashing down.

Where the Rains of Castamere had played, screams of agony and battle cries now substituted. From the tent line came a man running, he had a messy mop of red hair.

"THE FREYS ARE ATTACKING! THE FREYS BETRAYED-!"

He never finished that sentence. An arrow splintered from his chest, knocking him flat on his back.

Ripping the longsword from my scabbard, I turned in anger on the Boltons.

"What the fuck is going on!?" I demanded. None of them paid any heed to me, as they rushed forward into the fighting.

I stood in the Bolton camp alone now. Watching in a strange mix of terror and disbelief as the Boltons and Freys began to clash with the other North men.

Footsteps arose from behind me, along with a commanding voice. Obviously an officer.

"You, soldier! Get out there and show them what it means to betray Lord Bolton!" I felt spit fly out, and land on the back of my neck.

In a fury I didn't even know was building in me, I whipped around and slammed my blade through the officer's chest. The shock only kicked in once the business end of my sword erupted from his back, dripping red gore with his life's blood. He slumped forward on my blade, the shocking light in his eyes gone dim. I kicked the corpse off, and stepped over it.

With one last glance over my shoulder I caught the blur of a horse racing by. It's coat as black as midnight. The beast stood taller then a grown man, with eyes the color of the flames behind it. It held two passengers. The first; a young girl slumped forward in the saddle. The second; a strange being with the head of a snarling dog. I caught only the slightest glance of that hellish face, but it couldn't be human. The sparrows say the Stranger rides a pale mare, but I believe the Book to be wrong. That was him. The Stranger, dragging death beneath the twins as he rode to escape the chaos around him.

Shaking my head in disbelief as I made my way to the stables. As I saddled the brown mare, I heard the regretful song that broke my heart.

Above the clash and clang of the battle. Cutting through the screams, and even stamping out the crackling of the fire.

A sorrowful howl sheared through all of it. Within four minutes it made an abrupt cut-off.

I needed no more evidence. The King in the North was dead at the hands of these craven Freys and Boltons. To think I had traveled the country side with such traitorous bastards. I spat on the ground, cursing their families to all seven hells as I climbed into the saddle.

Digging my spars into my horse, I left the flaming massacre that was to be a wedding. Now it ran red with the blood of the North. Swearing to have my revenge on them all. I will watch the Freys die screaming. That I promise you, in the name of the Old and the New Gods.

I entered the surrounding forest at a gallop, reaching up to my neck. I undone the simple clasp there, and let the pink and black cloak rip away in the wind.

I'm not sure where I'm headed. Or how far away from the Twins I've made it. I rode the entire night with only one thought coursing through my mind.

Revenge for King Robb. He was a brilliant man, I would go as far as to say I owe him. And on that I will avenge his death at the hands of such cowards.

The North may remember, but the South never forgives.

So my first chapter of my first Song of Ice and Fire story. Hope you guys like it so far, if it gets positive feedback, I'll do my best to continue. I have quite a plot planned out for it.


	2. Chapter 2

I rode hard that night, and didn't stop until I saw the first strikes of daylight beginning to appear. With daylight came smoke on the horizon to my back. A large white-grey pillar of it, funneling up into the sky above the vast tree line. The Freys had started burning the dead from last night's blood filled wedding.

This only pushed my resolve forward. I had to get out of the Twin's territory, before the bastards started sending out hunting parties to hunt down any stragglers. I dug my spars into the horse, urging it to speed up. Even though it had been going at a gallop for most of the night. Exhaustion wore at both of our heels. Slowly catching up.

Sadly exhaustion had raced to the finish line of the horse first. I heard the beast's legs give out from beneath it, it let loose a howl of pain. At one point we were galloping along, the clicky-clack of hooves on hard packed dirt. Then the howl, suddenly my rear was no longer connected to the saddle, and I found myself launched forward. A few short seconds of the world from a somewhat bird's eye view. Then BOOM! My back slammed into the ground, sending me sliding across the dirt road in a heave of uplifted dirt.

Di spite myself a yelp slipped past my clenched lips. Pain exploded like wildfire over the entirety of my body. With eyes shut tight, I let out a sigh of pain. Somewhere off down the road I heard the horse whimpering, it sounded distant. Becoming ever more so as the darkness grew thicker. Slowly the sounds around me faded as well.

My vision was swamped with a mosaic of colors and swirling patterns as I opened my eyes again. Slowly they began to fade, being replaced with dull streaks of sunlight. To my west, I could tell the sun had begun to set. How long had I been out?

Slowly, ever so slowly, the images of the night before slipped back into my memory from the cracks in my mind. Fire spreading through the tents, screams of men dying, screams of those fighting, and that black blur. Giving my head a shake, which turned out be a horrid idea as it sent a spike a pain through my skull, I tried to focus on my surrounding.

Farther down the road the horse lay there. Still and unmoving, except for the slow blink of it's eyes. The poor animal's pain needed an ending, pushing myself to my feet I pulled the war axe from my belt. It was more of a hatchet then an axe in truth, with a very simple design. Like that of a wood chopping axe, except boasting a wider blade, and a steel make.

I staggered a bit as I finally stood on two legs. I wouldn't go as far to say firm. Since I felt as if I was riding upon a boat, crashing through the waves. A few shaky steps later, and I had found my balance. Trust me when I say I came out of this one lucky. I've seen men who've fallen off their horse before with a bit less luck. They'd beg the Stranger for a quick end one moment, then turn around the next pleading with the Seven to be emperor of Essos.

Giving my head another shake I found the spike of agony dulled down to an annoying ache. I spit on the ground, luckily no teeth followed. Now that I was sure I was fine, I weighed the axe in my hand. It was near perfectly balanced. Which was great.

With a few quick strides I had crossed the road to stand over the downed horse. It's eyes held a deep lack of intelligent, yet an unimaginable amount of wisdom. Strange isn't it? I raised the axe above my head, preparing to deal the final blow to end it's suffering.

Second thoughts tip-toed into my mind out of no where. I wouldn't normally have it in me to kill a defenseless animal. But then again this one was wounded on the ground, and in pain. I guess it was my job to give the gift of mercy, no?

The first blow crashed into it's neck, sending up a spurt of blood. I stumbled back to avoid the ickiness. The horse hadn't ventured into the void yet, though. A silence whimper pursed it's lips. Closing my eyes, I stepped forward to relieved a second blow, that ended it's misery once and for all.

I stepped back with a sigh, dispute all my effort. Gore had managed to splatter all over my breeches and shoes. Bending down, I went to search the saddle bag. I found a spare tunic stuffed down in the first one, to small for me, so I used it to wipe away the blood from my blade.

In the second bag my fingers dug out a dagger, and three silver stags. Pocketing the money, I stood and set off down the road once more.

The sun had set a while ago, and now I was engulfed in darkness as I walked down the forest road. Trees, bushes, and brush covered both sides of the road.

To take my mind off the creepy surrounding, I turned to my imagination. It's amazing how a hard drop can clear your head. As I walked I turned over ideas in my mind. Examining every inch of them.

The first, and foremost point to surface in my mind was revenge on the Freys and the Boltons. Secondly, was a little voice in the back of my head telling me this was all a bad idea, and I should just wander back to the South to my family. I buried that voice beneath the piles of bodies that the Frey's left at the wedding.

Now back to the matter at hand. There were a few ways I could go about vengeance for King Robb. Most of them seemed to far fetched to get me anywhere, other then in a grave. But three did seem possible in some light.

1) Probably the less thought out of the two, that would need quite a bit of planning latter own. Was to simply slay Lord Frey, and Lord Roose in a cold blooded assassination. But I was no assassin, so that one I must scratch. Possibly I could hire a Faceless Man? Yeah, right. If I had all the gold in Casterly Rock.

2) This one offers a possible solution. To carry it out, I would need to just gather up a few muscly guys. Maybe some veterans who escaped the wedding. Or just those with a bone to pick with the two houses. Start up a band of free-brothers, and wage a guerrilla war on the Freys and Boltons.

3) My renown is not far known. But there is some possibility in this one. I could attempt to rouse up the houses in the North into a second open rebellion. With Umber at their head, I believe the North could spark up again, and make a bit of head way.

A loud rumble from my stomach ripped me from my daydreams. As I drifted back into reality I realized how hungry I had become. And with hunger, came the ache in my legs. I had been walking for hours with an empty stomach.

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a piece of old meat jerky. It was tough, and kind of soggy from the blood that had soaked through my pants. But food was food, after a few pieces of it, I seemed to have filled my hunger. Now that left the ache in my legs, and the dryness on my tongue.

I stirred off the road, and made my way to the tree line. As I made my way to the nearest tree I began to feel the heaviness in my eyelids. They were slowly drooping downwards as I got closer. Placing my hand on the rough bark of the oak tree, I drifted down it's trunk, and curled my knees up to my chest. Sleep came over me in an instant.

I meandered through hazy dreams. Quick ones, and ones that lingered. Those I enjoyed and ones I wished to leaver sooner. The leading dream that night was of my past, and the life I used to live before I headed North. It was a slow paced, and left a smile to my lips.

_The brothel was quiet that night. Only a few of the soldiers, or sailors from far off lands had come in. Business had been slow lately, to be honest. But that never put me, or mother in low spirits. Yes, that's right. I was a whoreson. It never bothered me in the least. Master Mathew was a great man, regardless of what anyone said of him. He had given shelter to one of his worker's whelps, and the only thing he asked of me in return of that shelter was to pull my fair share of weight. _

_And not as you would think! I was not a whore! Haha, no, I was somewhat of a body guard around the place. The shaggy, jet black mop atop my head, and dark blue eyes had a tendency to send chills down a man's spine, even when I wasn't trying to act intimidating. _

_My mother always said I got those looks from my father..._

_The dream shifted from the warm room with the fire place at the entrance of the brothel, to another fond memory._

_Master Mathew and myself stood in the back alley behind the brothel. Pacing around each other, makeshift wooden swords held at arm lenght. I rushed him, jumping forward, slashing with my blade. He knocked my blade to the side, flaunting those old soldier moves of his._

_He side stepped my next attack, and my found the point of his wooden sword hitting me in the stomach._

_"Dead." He would call out to me with every death blow. And Master Mathew always dealt death blows._

_Dancing back off his blade, I brought my own up in hopes of surprising him. He swatted it aside as well. Knocking the weapon from my hand. He aimed the tip of his sword to my chest, holding it just inches away from me. I held my hands up in defeat._

_"Yield?" His voice spoke with the wisdom of a hundred fights._

_I rushed him. Jumping to the left of his sword, and swinging with my fist. Again with the side step. He went right, wrapping around behind me and slapping me in the back of the skull with the flat of his blade._

_"Don't be a fool, lad!" He called as he took steps back from me._

_I stood there, doubled over. I spit a glob of blood onto the cobbles, a white spec landed mixed in the crimson. _

_He let out a laugh from behind me. "Looks to me it's time to quit, you've lost a baby tooth, eh?" _

_With another glob of red ick on the cobbles, I straightened up. And faced my 'enemy.' _

_"Never surrender." I gave a fierce grin, those ebony bangs hanging in my face. Framing my cold blue eyes. It was a lovely sight. Or maybe I'm just being vain._

_Master Mathew gave the smallest hint of a smile, and got into a fighting stance. Waiting for more._

The dream faded away with another one replacing it. This one seemed much more realistic. Yet, more distorted. As if I was gorgy as I viewed it. Perhaps only half sober, and half asleep.

To my left I heard a growl from deep within the throat. A dark musky smell of unwashed fur reached my nostrils... and I realized this was no dream.

My eyes shot open.

A pack of wolves stood around the tree. Standing vigilant over me. There foul odor filling my nostrils, and the sounds of their growls filled the air. Strangely all of them had yet to rip me limb from limb. But it wouldn't be long before they attacked, maybe they liked a little fight in their dinner?

My hand trembled slightly as I slowly reached for my longsword. If that's what they wanted, then by the Seven I'll give it to them.

One of the wolves. The one in front of me, an alpha male by the looks of him. Caught my eyes with his own yellow ones. As if to say "Don't try it."

I didn't listen. Ripping the sword from my scabbard, I slashed at him. Slicing a cut across his forehead, just barely missing the eye. A red flow began to pour down it's face.

The wolf let out a snarl that quickly developed into a whimper as he back away from me. Red on grey on yellow. A hellish sight to be waken to in the middle of the night.

Jumping to my feet, I slashed once again at another wolf who had decided to take it's chances by pouncing. The reward it got him was a slashed throat, and a puddle of blood for his companions to wallow in.

Two more jumped at me this time. Again, I made to attack. But I missed it by a hair. The wolf's teeth scrapped against my gauntlet before I shook him off. The second one had more of a chance, it's teeth sank into the leather of my boot. Holding to it. Pinning me to the ground.

Raising my sword, I made to cleave down on him. But I stopped. All the wolves the stopped.

A savage howl called out across the road.

Following the eyes of all the wolves, I looked to see the source. At this moment I got a good understanding of how many wolves followed this pack, a good fifty. That was large. To damn large. I'd heard stories of such things happening around these parts...

There on the road stood a dire wolf. Yes, it was a dire wolf. I'd seen King Robb's before, and I could tell you this one wasn't much different. Except it seemed to stand a bit taller, and had a lighter shade.

The dire wolf's eyes wandered over the packs. Finally those cold, yellow, yet intelligent bulbs settled on me.

It snarled slightly, stepping off the shoulder of the road, and down into the slope where my tree had rooted it's self. Making it's way to me slowly, the other wolves in it's path parted as it came. The one currently trying to rip my legs to shreds let go in an instant and backed away.

I found my legs trembling, hell my entire body trembled. I looked to the Seven for guidance, I prayed to the Old Gods. I was in the North, it was only right. My breath came out shaky no matter what. I had personally witnessed one of these things rip the throats from armored men, sword or not. Be they Calvary or pike men, King Robb's wolf had always brought down it's prey.

The huge beast padded towards me. Stopping dead in front of me. She, somehow it struck me as she, sniffed me. Her intelligent eyes looked me up and down. What surprised me most was that the wolf stuck her snout out.

Something possessed me then. I don't know what it was, but I hesitantly stuck my own hand out. Placing it just in front of her snout, feeling that I shouldn't touch the animal unless she had permitted it.

Nudging my palm with her red nose, she pulled back and licked my hand. Wet, warm saliva ran through my fingers. I clasped my fist with a slight gasp. My eyes wide in shock, by right this thing should be ripping me apart piece by piece, but it licked me like dog! What the hell?

Turning in a half circle, the dire wolf let out a snarl that sent the entire pack running off back towards the road. Tails between their legs.

Once all the small ones had left, she threaded back up the small incline. As the wolf stood on the road, she glanced back at me one more time. And I truly saw how intelligent this beast was. I felt those yellow eyes staring through me. As if it could see what I was made of.

With a turn of her head in an elegant fashion, the dire wolf walked off into the woods on the other side of the road. Leaving me standing there in amazement.

My knees hit the ground, and I clenched the hand she licked to my chest. I felt something from it. From the wolf herself. I can't exactly place it. My guesses ranged from the Old Gods, to the ghosts of ancient Starks giving me their blessing to go on with my plans to avenge their fallen kinsmen.

Laying down in the dirt, I actually prayed for sleep to come this time. For I was wide awake, and would need a good night's rest to go on with my ventures tomorrow.

But no matter how hard I prayed doziness never came. I was left there in the grass thinking about the she-wolf, and what it all could mean.

Was that cheesy or not? xD I'm not sure. I kind of liked it. What do you guys think?


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